Celebrity Crush
by MizJoely
Summary: Sherlock's discovery of Molly's celebrity crush is just the impetus he needs to finally admit to having (shudder) FEELINGS. But will the date go as planned? Read and find out!


_o0katiekins0o said: Sherlock is jealous of Molly's celebrity crush: Neil DeGrasse Tyson. And he feels just a little inadequate because he doesn't really know anything about astrophysics. He'll be speaking at a university close to them and she's frantically trying to get tickets. Established relationship or not but I would like it if it ended in some smut. Bonus points if you manage to work in the phrase "Particle physics gives me a hadron" I know you can do it!_

 _A/N: Totally M Rated, I got the bonus points, and...what else? Oh yes, I own neither Sherlock Holmes nor Neil DeGrasse Tyson, and I want to thank everyone who reads/follows/favorites/reviews my fics, you guys all totally rock!_

* * *

"All right, I'll bite; what could you possibly have against Neil DeGrasse Tyson?"

John looked pointedly at the magazine Sherlock was currently mangling and glaring daggers at. The distinguished scientist's face graced the cover, although it was hard to see between Sherlock's oversized fingers and the crumpled pages. "Too much astrophysics?" the doctor suggested mock-helpfully. "Not enough crime solving? Or is it his dress style that offends you? Jealous of his looks, perhaps? His popularity? I hear his blog does really wel..."

"Yes, very funny, John, positively hilarious," Sherlock snapped. "It's not the man himself who offends me, although I don't always agree with his scientific commentary or methodology."

"Then what is it?" John asked with a grin, knowing very well what had set his friend off – even if said friend probably didn't know why it was bothering him so much.

Sherlock surprised him by immediately admitting the truth. "Molly has a crush on him. He's her _celebrity crush_ ," he clarified with a sneer. "I heard her telling Mary she was upset because she couldn't get tickets to the talk he's giving at the London Observatory Fundraiser tonight. Tickets," he added with a triumphant gleam in his eyes, "which Mycroft has just informed me he's sending over by messenger."

John patted his jacket pockets. "Oh, so that's what these are!" he exclaimed, pulling an envelope out and holding it up as if he could read its contents through the layers of sealed paper. "Don't much like being called a messenger, though."

Sherlock snatched it out of his hands, making it vanish into a pocket of his maroon dressing gown while John grinned. "So," he said, settling into his chair-that-really-wasn't-his-chair-anymore, "care to talk about it?"

Sherlock threw himself into his own chair, knees huddled to his chest and arms clasped loosely around his legs, looking surprisingly young and vulnerable. Almost too young and vulnerable for John to continue teasing. Almost. "Come on," he prodded as Sherlock remained stubbornly silent. "You know you want to. If it bothers you that he's," he nodded at the discarded magazine, now lying crumpled on the floor, "Molly's celebrity crush, then why do you want to take her to see his lecture?"

That caught Sherlock's attention; his gaze focused and brow furrowed as he stared at John. "I never said I was taking Molly to the lecture."

"But you are, right? Taking her, I mean." John grinned and settled back comfortably, crossing his left leg casually over his right. "So you can observe her first-hand and see just how serious this 'celebrity crush' is. She does like a man with brains," he mused. "But I suspect he's not quite brooding enough to really keep her attention afterwards."

"You're making fun of me," Sherlock said without rancor. "Stuff it, John. You know very well that my…that I…"

"That you…what?" John prompted, not willing to cave and fill in the blanks the way Sherlock so obviously wanted him to. No, the git was finally admitting to having real live, grown-up feelings for another human being – _romantic_ feelings – and John Hamish Watson was there to make sure he did so all on his own.

Sherlock glowered at him for a long minute before jumping back up to his feet to pace agitated circles around the flat, threading between and very often over the furniture. "Fine, Molly's important to me, she matters, I want her to be happy," he spat out after he'd begun his second round. John twisted his head a bit in order to keep him in view, wondering if it would be wrong to record this on his mobile to share with Mary later. Who'd predicted that Sherlock was due for a meltdown about 'The Molly Situation' and had sent her husband over for the express purpose of giving their friend someone to vent to.

Vent to, confess to, whatever. John made a mental note to tell his wife that she was, yet again, 100% right. He also briefly considered thanking Mycroft for intercepting him before his arrival at Baker Street and asking him to drop off the envelope Sherlock had been so eager to take…but remembered all the times he wanted to punch his friend's older brother in the face and thought, "Nah."

"She matters and you want her to be happy because…?" he prompted when Sherlock fell silent again, although mercifully he'd stopped his pacing.

The glare he received in response was well worth the satisfaction John felt when Sherlock said, "Because I love her, John, obviously. And want to be the man she's having quite a lot of sex with, not to put too fine a point on it…are you all right?" he interrupted himself to ask, as it appeared that John was having some sort of seizure.

"No, fine," John wheezed, waving away Sherlock's non-existent attempt to help him. "Just a bit, um, surprised?" He sounded unsure of himself but at least he'd stopped coughing and choking. "So…sex, then? With Molly? Giving up the whole married-to-my-work, virgin thing?"

Sherlock glowered at him. "Not a virgin," he sulked. "Not since uni, no matter what The Woman and my older brother might think. But yes, I've come to the conclusion that Molly is actually good for brain work rather than a distraction. And yes," he added before John could do more than open his mouth, "I won't ever tell her I considered her a distraction. I'm not that clueless about women. She's spent a good amount of time doing things that I like to do – even though she likes to do them as well – so now it's time I spent time doing something she'll enjoy, like this tedious lecture." He rolled his eyes disdainfully. "Astrophysics. Of what possible use could knowledge like that be to me? To _anyone_?"

John reminded himself of the pointlessness of getting into an argument with Sherlock about this sort of thing, closed his eyes, counted to ten, then opened his eyes again. He pointed at his friend. "You," he said forcefully, "are NOT going to say anything of the sort to Molly when you take her, got it? No whining about how you're bored or how stupid it is to know anything about the universe unless it involves crime solving, NOTHING. Got it?"

Sherlock sniffed, then plopped himself into his chair and hunched into as close to a ball as a seated human being with legs as long as a giraffe could manage. "Fine. I won't say anything, not even when I tell her we're going out…"

" _Ask_ her," John corrected him sternly. "That's a pretty important distinction. Don't forget it."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Fine, then, when I _ask_ her, I won't point out how ridiculous her crush on this man is. Or that he's clearly not her type no matter how intelligent he might seem to be…"

John cleared his throat. Loudly. Sherlock hunched even further in on himself, hands wedged beneath his armpits, but made a grunt that his friend took to be acknowledgement that he was being a prat.

Having done about as much as any human being could be expected to do – and having confirmed to his current and his wife's future delight that Sherlock was, indeed, in love with Molly Hooper – John took his leave. "I'd wish you luck, mate, but I know you don't believe in it."

"Luck is what you make it," Sherlock muttered.

John grinned; it was rare his friend gave him an opening like that. "Right. So don't make it bad luck by opening your gob and pissing off a woman you want to impress. And eventually shag." Then he sailed out the door, mobile in hand as he quickly called Mary. "Hello, luv, just on my way home. Need anything at the shops? How's Maddie doing? Oh, and you'll never guess who finally got his head out of his…"

His words faded into silence as he reached the ground floor. Sherlock waited until the front door slammed before grabbing the pillow from beneath his back and throwing it violently across the room, where it bounced off the coffee table and onto the floor. "I'm not a child, John, I do possess SOME social skills," he muttered to himself, quite unironically.

He pulled his mobile out from where it had become wedged between the chair cushions and called a number he'd long since memorized. "Hello, Molly. It's me. Sherlock." He cleared his throat. "Of course, you know it's me, I'm sure you recognized my number. Why am I calling? No, no, it's not an emergency!" He ran a hand through his hair, wincing at the agitated tones pouring from the mobile's speaker. "Nothing's wrong, will you please let me get a word in edgewise?" Taking a deep breath in order to calm himself, he blurted out, "Would-you-like-to-go-out-with-me-tonight?"

 **oOo**

Mike Stamford found Molly Hooper stopped dead in the middle of the morgue, staring at her mobile as if it was some dangerous pathogen she'd inadvertently let loose on the world. "Molly? What's wrong?" he asked, hurrying to her side.

She turned her wide-eyed gaze from the mobile to Mike. "I…I think Sherlock…just asked me on…a date," she said slowly.

Mike raised his eyebrows. "For a case?"

She shook her head. "He says not. He also says not for an experiment, or because he's bored or high or because John can't go. He's says he's not faking it, that it's because he…he wants me to be happy. Even if it's with him, which he also says he doubts is possible but he's willing to try if I'm willing to put up with him."

The jumble of words came to an abrupt stop as Molly's expression turned from stunned amazement to cautiously happy. "Mike, I think he actually means it!"

"Well, if anyone can tell when he's putting it on, it's you," Mike said with a wide grin of his own. "Took him long enough to get his head out of his arse, he's just lucky you were willing to wait for him to do so!"

Molly laughed and nodded as she slipped her mobile back into the pocket of her lab coat. "You know what, Mike? He really is." Her grin turned cheeky. "And once we get through this mystery date – he just says to dress up for a night on the town that shouldn't involve running after criminals – maybe we'll see just how lucky he gets!"

Her cheeks flushed crimson as she realized what a completely inappropriate joke she'd just made to one of her superiors at work, but Mike just winked and laughed and left her to spend the rest of the afternoon in a bit of a happy daze.

 **oOo**

The evening was a complete success, much to Sherlock's astonishment. Oh, he'd known Molly would be thrilled that he'd gotten tickets to a sold-out event, but even he couldn't have deduced exactly how thrilled she would be. So thrilled that here they were, back at his flat on Baker Street, well on their way to becoming completely naked while still sitting on his sofa. The fact that her tongue was down his throat and her delightful little breasts were pressed up against his bare chest? Icing on the cake.

"Oh, Sherlock," she gasped as they broke the kiss, her hair disheveled and hanging around her bare shoulders, "that was the perfect, perfect first date!" A cheeky grin curved her lips. "Make sure and thank your brother for me?"

He stared at her in (mostly) mock outrage. "What, you don't think I'm capable of getting my hands on tickets to see some moderately famous physicist at a sold-out event on my own?"

"He's a bit more than 'moderately' famous," Molly responded, frowning. Sherlock tensed; Molly frowning was definitely not part of tonight's agenda, certainly not after they'd made so much progress. "And if you don't like him, then why take me to see him?"

She was sitting up now, her torso no longer pressed against his, which was an even more alarming step in the wrong direction. "It's not about what I like, this was supposed to be about what _you_ like." Sherlock couldn't help the sulky tone; he'd worked very hard (well, yes, Mycroft had done the legwork, or had one of his minions do the legwork, but still) to make sure this evening was everything Molly wanted…and all because of her crush on an idiotic physicist who probably couldn't solve a crime to save his life…oh. Dear. GOD. Had he just said all that aloud?

Judging by the look on Molly's face…yes. Damn. So much for the romantic evening he'd been hoping for. "William Sherlock Scott Holmes," Molly said in an ominous voice, "did you just call one of the most brilliant physicists of our time…an _idiot_?"

Since he'd already destroyed any chance of getting the two of them any more naked than they currently were, Sherlock threw caution to the wind and spoke his mind. "So what if I did? Why shouldn't I? He might know his particle physics but how well do you think he could use that supposedly brilliant brain of his in something that actually matters in the real world? Could he have figured out that a rash of suicides were actually murders? Or broken up a Chinese smuggling ring? Could he have gone toe to toe with Jim Moriarty and come out the winner?" He sneered. "I think not!"

Remarkably, in spite of that particularly childish outburst, Molly didn't slap him silly, grab her clothes and leave. Instead, she did something he'd never have expected: she laughed. It started with a twitch of her lips, became a series of small giggles she tried to cover with her hands, and ended up a series of full-on guffaws, complete with watering eyes and hiccupping breaths by the time she finished. However, she also remained seated on his lap the entire time, so he cautiously counted that as a win. Not that he was going to let her know; she'd just laughed at him after all! So when she finally stopped wheezing and wiping her eyes, he said in his haughtiest voice, "If you're quite finished, Miss Hooper, I will naturally call a cab to take you home."

She looked him dead in the eyes, all signs of laughter gone, deliberately laid her hands on his chest as she leaned forward and said, "Over my dead body, Sherlock. You're not getting rid of me that easily. Just because you're jealous…"

"I am _not_ jealous!"

"He said jealously, with a jealous expression on his face," Molly shot back, but she was still smiling. She reached up and laid a hand on his cheek, which he pretended not to enjoy. "Oh, come on, Sherlock," she coaxed. "You have to admit, that was just about the most spectacular display of jealousy you've ever shown. Did you think I was comparing you two? And if I was, how could you possibly think you'd ever come up short?"

"You don't go on and on about my brain," he mumbled, only partially appeased. "Not like you used to, anyway."

Molly had both hands on his face now, cupping his chin, tracing his cheekbones with her thumbs. "Sherlock, I don't stutter and make a fool of myself around you the way I used to, either," she pointed out. "Change isn't always a bad thing. Besides, there's nothing wrong with admiring two brilliant men." She pressed a soft kiss to his lips, adding in a murmur, "Especially since there's only one of them I'd like to shag right now."

"Only right now?" Sherlock asked, his voice as quiet as hers and a smile quirking the corners of his lips. "What about tomorrow night, or the night after that? What about in the morning, hm?"

She pretended to give his question serious thought. "Hm, I guess I'd have to think about it…"

She broke off with a squeal of laughter as he hauled her tight to his body, making sure she could feel exactly how aroused he was as he deftly removed her bra and tossed it to the floor next to their trousers and his shirt. "Molly Hooper," he growled, "the only thing I want you to be thinking about is how good it's going to feel when I fuck you." With that, he swooped down and sucked first one, then the other of her dusky pink nipples between his lips, curling his tongue around each while she gasped out her appreciation.

But when he attempted to slip her knickers off, she stopped him with one hand on his chest. "Nuh-uh," she said. "Not until you admit that Neil DeGrasse Tyson is brilliant. Do that, and I'm yours."

"Fine, he's brilliant," Sherlock growled in response, rocking his hips upward and grinding their cores together. "Now for God's sakes, Molly, will you let me make love to you?"

She gasped and kissed him, hard, her tongue not so much sliding between his lips as plunging into his mouth. He sucked on it greedily, reaching down to rub at the damp spot on her knickers and loving the way she groaned and writhed at his touch

It was a relief when she finally knelt up so he could finally get the blasted knickers off. He lifted his own hips when she tugged at the elastic waist of his navy blue boxes, but only let her pull them as far as his thighs, far too impatient to get her where he wanted her to wait. He slid two fingers deep inside her, loving the way her slick folds felt against his skin, knowing with a tingling sense of anticipation that it was nothing compared to the way her well-lubricated interior muscles would feel against his cock, even if it was sheathed in a condom.

Speaking of which… "Molly, did you, uh, happen to bring anything? Prophylactics? In your purse? If not I think there's a box in the bathroom." He knew damn well there was a box in the bathroom, since he'd gone to a great deal of trouble to not only purchase one, but to make it appear as if it had been sitting around for several months. Not long enough to be no longer usable, but long enough to make it appear as if he hadn't been secretly hoping for a specific outcome after tonight's date.

"No, but it's all right," she said as she raised herself up, hands on his shoulders and breasts right in front of his very appreciative eyes. "I've got an IUD and I know you've been clean since before the faux-riarty case…and I've got the urine samples to prove it!"

Only Molly could make 'urine samples' sound like the sexiest combination of words ever spoken; with hungry growl, Sherlock helped her lower herself onto his straining cock. He dropped his head on the back of the sofa with a moan of satisfaction; she felt just as good as he'd imagined, hot, slick muscles tightening around him as she raised and lowered herself by increments, slowly getting used to the size and shape of him deep inside her.

Within minutes they were grunting and sweating, mouths meeting in a series of urgent, sloppy kisses, Sherlock's hands on her hips to help guide her in the rise-and-fall rhythm of their lovemaking. Molly was chanting his name between kisses, begging him to fuck her harder, faster, to…send her to space? He faltered and nearly lost his rhythm with that one, wondering if she'd decided on the most inappropriate moment to tease, him, but the sheen of sweat on her body, the glazed look in her eyes and the increased urgency of her movements convinced him it had just slipped out in the passion of the moment.

Making a mental note to tease her about it later, he moved one hand around her body, brushing her clit with his thumb while simultaneously sucking her lower lip between his teeth. She shouted, quite loud enough to wake Mrs. Hudson if she hadn't already taken her 'herbal soothers', her interior muscles clamping down on his cock and spurring him toward his own orgasm.

She clung to him as he pulsed inside her, the entire universe narrowing down to just the two of them for one glorious, endless moment.

 **oOo**

They moved from the sofa to the bedroom, not bothering to pick up so much as a single item of clothing, although Molly wondered aloud what Mrs. Hudson would think when she popped up in the morning with his tea. "Nothing we need concern ourselves with," Sherlock replied, cuddling her close and kissing the tip of her nose. "Knowing her she'll just see herself out…and give me the third degree as soon as you're gone. Which," he added, "I hope won't be right away as I have every intention of thoroughly wearing you out this weekend."

"Mm, sounds lovely!" Molly said. "The perfect follow-up to a perfect night out." She was running one hand up and down his thigh, with predictable effects on his anatomy, and as her fingertips brushed against his growing erection, she gave a soft giggle.

"What?" Sherlock asked, lazily stroking her arm.

"Well, it's just…we're here, together, because of my celebrity crush," she explained. Or rather, _didn't_ explain. When he just stared at her, she giggled again. "I never would have guessed that particle physics could give you such a… _hadron_."

Her giggles turned to shrieks of laughter as he flipped her on her back and began tickling her remorselessly.

After all, he'd told her not to make jokes before!


End file.
